My last grandmother passed away on July 26th. She was 94 and a Christian. We had known for several days that it was coming. She had a mild heart attack in the middle of the week (last of several she had over the last twenty years), but shortly after several other systems started to malfunction.
More so than the death of my other grandparents, her death affected me in several ways.
I always felt slightly guilty/envious that I wasn’t closer to my dad’s parents. I was the only one of the grandchildren who had never lived in Florida near them. My cousins grew up in Florida and for a time lived with grandma and grandpa. My sister was the first girl born in the family in two generations and lived in Sarasota for a year - the year my grandpa died - both which had made her and my grandma close.
Grandpa had been a talker and would gladly talk your ear off. His favorite subjects were fishing, politics, Jesus, prophesy (which you never really wanted to listen to), and investments (which he wished his grandchildren wanted to talk about more and unfortunately we never did).
Grandma was more reserved. She was the kind of person who never talked much about herself or her past (unlike her sister), but was always interested in you. In some ways, this made her harder to get to know. In other ways, it made her the person she was. Grandma was a servant. She had a string of people and neighbors in later years who she would selflessly take care of in their needs. She was the kind of person who was always about making you comfortable, hearing how you were doing. (I did find out in her later years that she did have a fantastically quick and sarcastic sense of humor. I’m not sure how I missed it all those years.)
So while Grandpa was vocal about his faith (though he lived it out), Grandma was reserved in hers (expressing it in her deeds and service). Grandpa taught the boys 4th-5th grade Sunday School class at First Baptist Sarasota for more than 25 years. (His father had been a founding member of the church.) Grandma taught the 4 and 5 year olds Sunday School for the same length of time. One of those who spoke at her funeral talked about the impact Grandma and Grandpa had made on his life - they had been second parents to him, discipling him most of his life, from Sunday School, to regular fishing trips later in life.
The last several years of her life, Grandma lived with my uncle Paul. She was mentally and physically healthy and clear. My family was able to see her last in June when she was visiting my parents in Atlanta. Mary and I had taken her out to Wendy’s - she always had loved Frosty’s.
She died in the hospital of congestive heart failure. My uncle and aunt, dad and mom, and sister were there. She was sitting in a chair, not wanting to lie down, in a lot of pain, with difficulty breathing. They were able to speak to her, tell her how much they loved her, how much she meant to them. They recited Scripture to her and sang to her. When they did so, she became noticeably calmer, her breathing easier. During the last hour, she became slightly delusional. She kept pulling her hands away from my dad and uncle and appeared to be trying to touch something or reach out to something. Just before she died, she slumped over slightly, but then sat back up quickly with her eyes very wide, her pupils dilated. The family were all standing around her except my sister who was kneeling at her feet. My sister at first thought she was looking at her, but then realized Grandma was looking off, over her shoulder, the one place from her vantage point where no one was standing. She then closed her eyes and passed.
I am certain that the doctors have medical explanations for all that transpired, what my family saw happening. What the doctors can’t tell you is what she was seeing, what she was reaching for and more importantly why it all happens that way.
I am even more certain that God’s Word and promises are true and trustworthy. When my sister related all this to me on Sunday morning, I immediately thought of Jesus’ words in John 8 where he says, “If anyone keeps my word, he will never see death.” I remember a message I heard on that text years ago and the preacher saying, “If anyone keeps God’s Word, when death opens its jaws, you won’t see it. Jesus comes and takes you to himself.” In Acts 7, as the martyr Stephen is being stoned to death, he sees a vision of the heavens opened and the son of man standing at the right hand of the throne of God. And the vision of the glory of Christ over-rode everything else. While many things in death are open to interpretation, these words and this promise are sure.
My mom asked me later why grandma’s eyes dilated in the end. I’m sure there’s a medical reason. But this interpretation also came to mind: The eyes dilate to let in more light. When it’s dark, they must dilate to see, to let in more light. When it’s bright, the pupils shrink because too much light can hurt the eyes. Staring into the sun can hurt you, so your pupils shrink. But what if the sun couldn’t hurt you, couldn’t burn you? What if you were given a greater capacity to take in light? The promise of Scripture is that with unveiled face we will behold the glory of Christ. In any other circumstance, such a vision would destroy us, would undo us - to stand before the holiness of God. But the promise of the Gospel is that God has covered us with his hand; he has clothed us with the righteousness of Christ; he brings us into his presence without fear; he enables us to stand before him, to drink of him in fullness, to take in light and glory without fear of being burned and to take it in to the full.
In some unexplainable way, the death of my last grandmother has given me an even greater sense of eternity and the shortness of life. The manner of her death has brought home to me the reality of the spiritual world and a longing to see the glory of Christ. It has made life more serious, the ministry of the Gospel more urgent. It has made me want to be bolder and more earnest for the glory of God, for the kingdom of God, for the spread of the Gospel to the changing of lives and and transforming of hopes.
